


Things Arthur Finds Fun

by adelaide_rain



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/pseuds/adelaide_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames's list of Things Arthur Finds Fun is woefully short. To his surprise and delight, he finds that he can add roleplaying-as-a-romance-novel-heroine to the list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Arthur Finds Fun

When Eames steps into the room, it’s even worse than he expected.

It’s _horrific_.

Not a single inch of the desk's surface can be seen under manila folders, photographs and papers crammed with tiny text. The rest of the room isn't faring any better, with towering piles of newspapers, books and journals standing like a silent city. Five hard drives line a shelf along with a scattering of flash drives, and wires cross the floor everywhere, coiling trip hazards.

He doesn't even see Arthur until he walks into the room properly. Behind the desk, Arthur is on all fours with a red pen in his hand, poring over a huge table of figures that is spread out over the floor. Much as Arthur on all fours is something to behold, Arthur looking like he'd barely slept in six days is not something Eames likes to see. Every night Eames has gone to bed alone while Arthur worked, and every morning he’s been alone when he wakes. Only if he’s woken in the middle of the night has he found Arthur beside him, pale and frowning even in his sleep.

"Arthur," Eames says softly. "I brought coffee."

"Just put it on the desk," Arthur says without looking up.

"There isn't anywhere on the desk to put it." Eames knows Arthur far too well to put it down on any papers. "Come on, love. Take a break."

Arthur glares at him over his shoulder. "I don't have time for a break, Eames. Just put it down somewhere or take it back to the kitchen. I'll have it later."

"Arthur-"

"Eames, _please_. I need to have this work done by tomorrow. I don't have time for this."

"Then let me help," Eames says, sitting next to him and putting his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, maneuvering him so that he’s sitting with his back against the wall. Eames puts the coffee mug in his hand and takes the pen from him. "Tell me what I'm doing."

There's a pause and Eames isn't sure what Arthur's going to do but after a few moments he smiles and gives Eames a sweet kiss, a sure sign that he’s exhausted. He leans back against the wall and tells Eames what to do, sentences fragmenting in his tiredness. Eames gets to it and it’s only a few minutes until he hears soft snores and looks up to see Arthur with his chin on his chest, fast asleep.

He smiles and shakes his head. "You'll ache when you wake up," he says, very quietly, but has no intention of waking him. Eames knows how tired Arthur must have been to let him help at all so he'll just let him be; uncomfortable sleep is better than no sleep.

Eames hates watching him work himself into the ground like this, hates asking him to come to bed at 4am only to be snapped at. The least he can do now that the job’s coming to a close is to get Arthur away from here to somewhere that he’ll actually relax.

Eames goes over to Arthur’s laptop and opens the browser. After a quick search of the internet and a browse through the fake passports in the top drawer of the desk, Nathan Tomlin and Matthew Wilson have a vacation in a tropical paradise to look forward to. Eames forwards the confirmation email to Arthur and then goes back to finishing up Arthur’s work. By the time Arthur wakes a few hours later his to-do pile is considerably smaller.

"Eames," he says, voice slurred by sleep. "What-"

"Don't worry," Eames shows him the work he's completed while Arthur's slept. "I'll help you finish up, then I'll make dinner and you can get a decent night's sleep."

Arthur blinks at him slowly, then nods and rubs his eyes. "Okay," he says eventually. "Can you make some fresh coffee?"

"Of course," Eames says, stopping Arthur when he moves to grab a handful of paper and kisses him, taking it slowly, building it until it’s simmering. When he pulls back, Arthur's eyes are dazed but it's not from sleepiness. They haven't fucked since Arthur took this job and if Eames had known it was going to consume Arthur's time like this he would have insisted on helping from the beginning.

For now, Eames goes to get their coffee and thinks, for neither the first time nor the last, that next time Arthur tries to take a job like this he’s going to talk him out of it.  
\---  
There’s a minor squabble when Arthur sees the email and another about whether or not Arthur’s allowed to take his work laptop. But Eames knows a losing battle when he sees one and when they step into JFK Arthur has his laptop bag slung over his shoulder and a smirk. Eames might even feel annoyed if Arthur didn’t look so damned sexy when he smiled like that.

The main thing is that they’re here and Eames is going to make damned sure Arthur takes it easy, even if he has to tie him to a sun lounger.

In fact that sounds like it might be fun.

He watches Arthur as he checks in; the way his long fingers move over the screen is quite distracting. It’s not just imagining about what those fingers might be doing later or remembering what they did last night: just as a matter of aesthetics, Arthur has beautiful fingers. He has beautiful everything.

" _Eames_ ," Arthur says, and Eames realises Arthur's been talking to him. He looks up at his face, and sees that he's grinning, face open and relaxed. A sudden warm, pleased feeling seeps through him as Eames realises that despite what he says, Arthur is excited for this vacation. It looks like Eames might not need to tie him down to a sun lounger to get him to relax after all. More's the pity.

"God, you're easily distracted."

"Only by you," Eames says.

When they finally get to their destination, Eames signs for the hire car and lets Arthur read the directions.

The house is in the middle of nowhere and as they get further from the city the thick jungle foliage creeps right to the side of the road.

"I'm suddenly being reminded of horror movies," Arthur tells him, looking out of the window. "You know, the ones where the teenagers go on holiday and the murderers are waiting for them?"

“Murderers?” Eames wrinkles his nose. “God, Arthur, you really have no imagination. How about giant gorillas; zombies; dinosaurs?”

“Dinosaurs?”

“ _Please_ tell me you’ve seen the _Jurassic Park_ films.”

Arthur grumbles something about books that Eames doesn’t quite catch, then sighs and says, “Films where the unwary travellers are eaten by the chicken-sized dinosaurs then.”

"Then it's fortunate that we're not unwary," Eames says, grinning at him.

"You wouldn't let me be eaten, would you, Eames?" Arthur says, voice going soft. Eames glances over to see him flutter his eyelashes and grin. "I'm so glad I have a big, strong man like you to protect me!"

“I’ll always protect a beautiful man like you,” he says, injecting a dramatic touch to his voice and drops a hand to Arthur’s thigh. “With all these monsters on the loose I could never leave you on your own.”

Arthur’s eyebrow crooks and his grin widens, the sight of his dimples going straight to Eames’s dick and his heart. “My hero,” Arthur says, his voice soft. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

If Eames didn’t know better, that last sounded sincere. Just in case, he stays sincere himself as he says, “You’ll never have to find out.”

“Turn left here,” Arthur says. “It’s at the end of the road.”

The road becomes narrow and the lush vegetation starts to thin, and the house comes into sight, white and elegant. Eames pulls the car into the concrete driveway next to a Land Rover. It must belong to the man waiting by the front door, wearing an aloha shirt and yellow trousers that clash terribly.

As they get out of the car, he beams at them and waves.

“Welcome! I’m Christian,” he says, shaking both of their hands in turn.

“I’m Nathan,” Eames says, “And this is Matthew.”

“Wonderful to meet you,” Christian says and seems to mean it. “Come, let me show you around.”

The house is lovely, lots of big airy rooms and the huge patio leading out onto the small, private beach that is the main reason Eames chose the place. But Eames isn’t paying much attention to the house or Christian, he’s too busy throwing glances at Arthur and wanting to continue whatever it was that they were doing. He catches Arthur looking at him with hunger in his eyes.

Finally, when Christian has insisted on helping them bring their luggage in and pressed the key into Eames’s hand, he leaves.

Shutting the door behind him, Eames turns to see Arthur standing in a most uncharacteristic pose, all coyness and uncertainty. “Do you think we’ll be safe here?” He asks, looking around with wide eyes. “From the monsters, I mean.”

Amazed that Arthur’s still playing, Eames forces down a delighted smile and keeps his expression serious. “I’ll keep you safe,” he says, striding over to Arthur and gripping his shoulders. “If anyone wants to harm you, they’ll have to get through me first.” Which is true, but normally Arthur would just laugh at him if he said it. There’s laughter in his eyes now, but he bites his lip and runs his hands over Eames’s biceps.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says. “I- I’d be so scared otherwise.”

“You’d have reason,” Eames says, gesturing at the French window of the porch where the beach can be seen, turquoise waves lapping against white sand. It’s a picture-postcard image of tranquility. “There are so many things out there that would take advantage of someone with your innocence.”

He hears Arthur suppress a laugh and looks back to him, offering a brief flash of Arthur’s favourite cheeky smile, then turns his expression stoic and steps back.

“You’re so tempting, Arthur,” he says, and the hungry gaze that sweeps up and down Arthur’s body isn’t acting. “Even for me.” He sees Arthur’s eyes widen and shakes his head. “No, don’t worry. I won’t touch your lithe, pale body. However much I want to. I will keep myself in check.”

“But,” Arthur starts, taking a small step forward before pausing. “But what if I-“ He runs a hand through his hair and when Eames sees his dimples appear again before he can get control of himself, he smiles too. It’s so hard to find something Arthur finds genuinely fun, so it’s a good day when Eames finds another thing to add to the list.

“No,” Eames says, holding up a hand and looking away. “No, Arthur. Don’t. We can’t.”

“But I want to,” Arthur says, licking his lips in a most distracting fashion. “I – want you in a way I’ve never wanted a man before.” He looks away as though he’s shy about it, and in the romance novel they’re acting out, he would be blushing instead of trying not to grin.

“Wait.” Eames goes over to him and takes both of his hands in his own. “Don’t say any more. You- You’re just confused. You just feel this way because I rescued you.”

“No,” Arthur says, squeezing Eames’s hands. “No, it’s not that. I’m grateful, of course I am. But I would never offer myself like this from gratitude.”

“Arthur, please,” Eames says as Arthur runs his hands up Eames’s arms and across onto his chest. He’s tempted to drop the act and just _ravish_ Arthur – but Arthur is so obviously enjoying himself and that’s the whole point of this vacation. And of course there’s no reason at all why Eames can’t ravish virginal-romance-heroine-Arthur as surely as he can ravish devastatingly-confident-and-controlled-Arthur.

“I want you,” Arthur whispers, the fingers of one hand gently touching Eames’s cheek. He’s still keeping Eames at arm’s length, as is proper for his character, but Eames can feel the warmth of Arthur’s body and his erection aches for contact. “I want you to be my first.”

 _Oh fuck_ , Eames thinks, because even though he absolutely knows it isn’t true – he’s fucked Arthur several hundred times and he knows that the number of Arthur’s previous sexual partners are in the double figures. Even so, it makes Eames’s want flare to forest-fire proportions.

“We mustn’t,” he says, hoarse, holding onto his character only with a surge of willpower. “You should save yourself for marriage.”

“Mr. Eames,” Arthur says, and he’s looking directly into Eames’s eyes as he speaks. “I have never met any man who I would rather have as my husband than you.”

Eames just stares at Arthur for a long moment. Arthur doesn’t smile, or look embarrassed or like he’s playing. He looks utterly serious and that just floors Eames. Both of them have said that they’re not interested in marriage but that doesn’t make what Arthur said any less meaningful.

“Arthur,” he whispers, touching his cheek and leaning in to kiss him. Arthur doesn’t step away, he responds, opening his mouth and flicking his tongue against Eames’s. It’s not the shy, innocent first kiss their characters should have but Eames could care less right now. They’re both hungry for it and they kiss like they’ve been starved of each other, pressing up close and touching everywhere they can get to.

“Wait,” Arthur pants, pulling away. His hair is starting to come loose, falling into his eyes, and the sight of Arthur so dishevelled adds another layer of want to the pile. “Can we keep playing?”

“Of course, my darling,” Eames says, capturing Arthur’s hand and kissing it. He kind of liked where the kiss was going, but if Arthur wants to play then that’s fine too. “But there is no-one to marry us-“

“I don’t care! All I need to know is that I love you, and that’s enough. I don’t need anyone’s permission or sanction. The approval of my heart is all I need.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Eames says and smiles at Arthur’s ridiculousness. “I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you in the forest,” which is, in fact, exactly where he first saw Arthur, only they were both holding assault rifles and wearing fatigues. It wasn’t love at first sight but lust definitely reared its head.

“Then take me,” Arthur says, curling his hands in Eames’s t-shirt. “Take me.”

That is exactly what Eames is planning on, so he scoops Arthur into a princess carry. It makes Arthur laugh, burying his head in Eames’s neck; giggling at being carried by his hero isn’t really the character Arthur’s been building.

By the time the time Eames lays him down on the bed, he’s managed to mostly get control of himself and he gives Eames a wide, dimpled smile.

“Could you give me a moment?” he says, putting a restraining hand on Eames’s chest when he moves to kiss him. “Just a moment, to prepare.”

Eames really doesn’t want to stop touching Arthur but that’s the price a hero has to pay. “Of course,” he says and bows before leaving the room.

What Arthur is doing in this preparation time Eames has no idea, nor does he know if he’s supposed to be doing something as well. He thinks about it for a moment and strips off his t-shirt. It seems like the sort of thing he should do – make Arthur swoon, maybe, at the sight of his pecs and abs.

“I’m ready,” Arthur calls.

When Eames steps back into the bedroom Arthur is leaning against one of the bed posts, wearing nothing but a pair of grey briefs and a grey silk robe that falls down to his ankles. It fits Arthur beautifully, sitting perfectly on his shoulders and falling straight down so that it offers tantalising glimpses of the bare skin beneath.

“Arthur,” he murmurs, stepping forward and running his hands over the silk. “You’re beautiful.”

“You’re too sweet,” Arthur says, leaning into the touch when Eames strokes his cheek. “I don’t deserve this.”

“No,” Eames says. “You deserve better than me. But since you’ve honoured me, I will do my best.” He licks his lips, not quite sure about how one of these romance heroes goes about the seduction thing. But a kiss is a good start, and a kiss with Arthur is always sure to give Eames all kinds of ideas about seduction.

The robe is kind of in the way but it’s so beautiful that Eames doesn’t want to take it off. Instead he pushes Arthur gently to the bed and lets the robe pool under him. Whether or not climbing on his conquest is the right thing to do, Eames does it anyway. The feeling of Arthur’s warm, supple body beneath him makes him draw in a sharp breath and he trails a finger from Arthur’s sternum to the waistband of his briefs.

Everything about Arthur is pale and perfect. Even the scars on his belly, razor-thin and long, add to the aesthetic. Eames lowers his head to kiss them, smiling at the way Arthur’s stomach goes concave as he gasps at the touch.

His hands go to Arthur's hips. "Such a slender beauty," he says, and watches as Arthur tries not to smile.

"And you, my lord," Arthur says, and it's Eames's turn to suppress a smile. "You are so strong," he runs his hands over Eames's chest and broad shoulders. "Like an ox."

"An ox?" Eames can't stop the laugh. "Jesus, Arthur, cliché."

"Trashy romances are all about the clichés," Arthur says, pinching his waist. "Now get back to the seduction. My lord."

That Eames can do. With all of this lovely pale skin at his fingertips it's hard to decide exactly what to do first. He wants everything but then he's always been greedy. For an innocent like Arthur's pretending to be (rather than the harlot he really is) Eames thinks he should be gentle and take it slow. He wonders if he can make Arthur break character and beg.

He starts with kisses and touches, all above the waistline as is proper. Sliding the robe just off shoulders as slender as his hips, he bites them very gently and Arthur's breath quickens. The soft bites lead up Arthur's neck and down his jaw before nipping at his lips. When he pulls back Arthur’s eyelids are half-shut and a crooked smile shivers on his lips like he’s trying not to smile but can’t stop himself.

His hands are still on Arthur’s waist and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband.

“Has anyone ever seen you naked like this?” Eames asks. “Seen you lying below them, flushed and panting?”

“N-no,” Arthur stammers, lifting his hands to wrap them around Eames’s forearms. The sleeves of the robe fall back to reveal his strong, pale arms and Eames licks his lips at the sight of them. “I’ve never let anyone see me like this.”

“Then no-one’s ever told you how stunning you are, looking up with those big brown eyes? Nervous - but you want this, don't you? You want me to make love to you, to make you mine."

"Yes," Arthur whispers. "I want that."

Eames kisses Arthur and feels unsure whether he should undress him just yet but thinks fuck it and slowly slides the briefs down his legs, fingertips on his skin all the way down.

When Arthur is naked save for the robe, Eames takes a moment to savour the way that Arthur is looking up at him. Normally by this point Arthur would be telling him to get the hell on with it, or pushing him onto his back and taking control. It's rare that Arthur is sweet and gentle like this, and whenever he is Eames always cherishes it - even if it's only because he's roleplaying.

Arthur's eyes slide from Eames and he looks to the side, coy and shy.

"Look at me," Eames says, gently turning his head to look at him. "You are beautiful," he says.

"Really?"

"Really."

"I was always so afraid that a man would think I was too pale, or too thin," he says, and gives a tentative smile. "You make me feel like something worth having."

"Darling, you are."

Throwing aside his hesitation about how fast his character would move, Eames goes with his instincts and wraps his hand around Arthur's shaft. It's a good move and one that Arthur isn't expecting. He gasps and arches up from the bed.

"Eames!" Arthur pauses and closes his eyes as Eames strokes him slow and firm. "Don't you think you're moving a little fast?"

"Do you want me to stop?"

Arthur looks up at him, just shy of scowling. Eames gets it: it might be too fast for innocent little Arthur but he doesn't want him to stop. Once Eames puts his hands on Arthur it ignites something in both of them and those flames are hard to put out.

"I- No," he whispers, impressing Eames by staying in character. "I feel like I should but - it feels so good."

"It is good," Eames purrs, leaning over Arthur and kissing him. "It's all good. I'll take care of you, darling."

"I know," Arthur whispers, somehow looking the portrait of innocence while thrusting into Eames's fist. "I know you will, my lord."

Eames smiles at being called 'my lord' and kisses Arthur again as he continues to stroke him. "Do you know how long I've wanted this moment?"

"I think, perhaps, as long as I have," Arthur says, fingers curling in Eames's hair, threatening to pull before relaxing and carding through it instead. "My mother wants me to marry a merchant - she'd be aghast at my choosing a vagabond like you."

Eames grins at the suggestion that Arthur's mother doesn't approve - all of his family _love_ Eames, much to Arthur's perplexed amusement.

"Then this vagabond will attempt to show his valour," he says. "I will buy a home for you, all the fine clothes you desire. I will show your mother that one does not need to be a merchant to be a good husband."

"You are a hero," Arthur says, smiling, losing himself in the tale they're weaving. "And a hero is worth a hundred merchants."

"My love," Eames says, and sits up. "You are too kind. But now I want to make give you pleasure enough to steal your words from you."

Arthur's eyebrow quirks and Eames can see the sarcastic _really_? behind his eyes, but then he opens his mouth in a gasp. "You- you want to - to make love to me?"

"We are making love; when I lay my hands on you like this, that's making love. But I understand what you mean and no, not yet. First I want to pleasure you with my mouth."

"Eames," Arthur whispers, though his grin is wide and hungry.

Eames kisses his way down Arthur's body until he reaches his destination and presses his tongue to the heated skin. He looks up at Arthur as he works, loving the grin, the fluttering eyelashes, the way the robe falls from his shoulders as he writhes, grasping handfuls of sheets and moaning quietly.

When he pulls away Arthur whines, grabbing a handful of Eames’s hair to try and keep him where he is.

“I see that I’ve awakened something in you,” Eames says, disentangling Arthur’s fingers. “No, no,” Eames says, pressing a finger to Arthur’s lips despite Arthur not making a move to say anything. “Don’t deny it; don’t be ashamed of it. If no one has made you feel this way before then it is proof that we are meant to be.”

“Oh, Eames,” Arthur says with a wide, amused smile, and when Eames kisses him he feels Arthur’s shoulders shaking in silent laughter. There’s little that’s more of a turn-on for Eames than Arthur’s laughter and he rubs his hips against Arthur’s. Both of them gasp, still deep in the kiss, and Arthur’s hands go to Eames’s jeans, struggling with the button.

Eames kneels up to get rid of the jeans and throws them to the floor. Looking back at Arthur he sees him propped on his elbows, trying to affect a look of wide-eyed innocence and surprise at seeing a hard dick but his eyes are dark and hungry.

“Take me,” Arthur says, eyes flashing up to Eames’s. “You’re right – you have awakened something in me. Something wild that only you can tame. So take me.”

“Yes, darling,” Eames says, because what else can be said to that?

There’s a few moments of cursing when they realise that the lube’s in the bag downstairs but when Eames returns, Arthur is on his side, the robe draped artistically. Eames wants to paint him, capture this image on canvas; and paint on him too, cover his pale skin with swirls of colour.

Right now he wants to take him gently, as befits Arthur's virginal character; wants to take this chance to lavish him with all the love and affection that would normally earn him annoyed but amused glances.

He goes slower than he needs to, one finger, then two, three, because after all this is supposed to be Arthur’s first time. Arthur gasps and whines deliciously but doesn’t say anything until Eames pulls away to lube up his cock.

“You’re so big,” he says and Eames has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing at the faux-surprise in Arthur’s voice.

“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll be gentle.”

“I know you will,” Arthur says, and lets Eames position him how he wants him, pliable, trusting.

“You still having fun, love?” Eames asks when he has Arthur’s knees over his shoulders, bent almost double under Eames’s weight.

“Of course. It’s nice to have you taking care of me for a change,” he says with a flash of a crooked grin.

“If you didn’t love taking care of me so much then I would gladly treat you like this all the time. And by taking care of me I mean fucking me hard until I’m a mess, literally and figuratively.”

Eames kisses him, sliding his tongue between his teeth. Eames is more forceful than he usually is, owning the kiss, thrusting his tongue into Arthur’s mouth and claiming it, the way he would expect one of these heroes to. Arthur gasps and thrusts, trying to get Eames to push into him but he pulls back, making sure that he’ll be the one in control.

“Don’t be naughty,” he murmurs.

Arthur swears but slides back into character, pink-cheeked and biting his lip.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Eames says, stroking a thumb over the cotton-candy wash of colour on his cheeks. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know. But I can’t help it – I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” Eames says and gently presses in. Arthur groans and grabs at Eames’s forearms, the silk sleeves of the robe brushing his skin. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” Arthur gasps. “Oh, yes, my lord, you feel so good! Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Eames promises and slides into Arthur, thrusts into him, making his whispers and whimpers and cries ever more out of character. He’s gentle until Arthur begs for ‘harder! God damn it, harder’ and Eames graciously complies, fucking into him, pinning him to the bed like that, bent in half. Arthur has no room to move at all, other than his hands which grasp at Eames’s arms and shoulders, digging his nails in and leaving crescent-shaped marks.

It’s that as much as anything that brings Eames teetering to the edge – having Arthur pinned exactly where he wants him and whimpering beneath him. He’s not going to be able to hold out for long so he reaches between them, stroking Arthur with a firm hand until he cries out, splattering both of their stomachs with come.

It doesn’t take Eames long after that. Everything about Arthur seems designed to bring him off: the way he’s so tight around his dick, his breathing, so ragged and hoarse, how he’s shaking and fuck, fuck he’s so beautiful in that robe, his hair haloed on the pillow. When he’s all the way inside Arthur, buried deep, he bites off a cry and comes. When the waves of his climax diminish he drops his head to Arthur’s shoulder as he tries to remember how to breathe normally.

They don’t move for a long moment until Eames rolls off him with a grunt, lying on his back and staring at the canopied ceiling of the four poster bed, taking in the smells of sex and Arthur and the sea, the feeling of Egyptian cotton sheets beneath one hand and the silk of Arthur’s robe beneath the other.

He turns his head and smiles at Arthur. Arthur smiles back, warm and relaxed, then laces his fingers with Eames’s.

“That was fun,” Arthur says and his voice is as soft as his smile.

“It was. I will take this opportunity to point out that this was all my idea and I expect you to bake one of your pear tarts as recompense.”

“Greedy,” Arthur says, rolling onto his side so that he can kiss Eames.

“Always, when it comes to you,” Eames says and curls into the warmth of Arthur’s body, sliding a leg over Arthur’s. “So is this vacation working its magic? Are you relaxed?”

“I am incredibly relaxed.”

“Relaxed enough to admit that this was a brilliant idea?”

A laugh and a smile. “Yes. This was a brilliant idea. You have them occasionally.”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” Eames says, pulling Arthur tightly into his arms, because for Arthur that is tantamount to an admission of love. He is careful with his compliments, he holds them close, and if he deigns to release one to you then that is a special thing indeed.

“I’m thinking we take a shower then go down to the beach, maybe have a barbeque out there. And yes, if the ingredients are in the cupboards I will make your pear tarte tatin.”

“They are,” Eames says. “I made sure Christian put them there.”

“Of course you did,” Arthur says with a laugh and snuggles into Eames’s arms. “Thank you,” he says when his face is nestled between Eames’s shoulder and his neck, very quiet and muffled and barely perceptible.

Eames smiles. Expressions of gratitude are even rarer than compliments. “Anytime,” Eames promises, and thinks that trips like these must become more common. Not because of the thank yous or the pretty words or even the orgasms: because Arthur is smiling, he’s laughing and relaxed.

“You know,” Eames says. “I have a list in my bag of Things Arthur Finds Fun. My plan was that we would work through them and get them in the right order.Now I’ve got something to add; I wonder where it would fit?”

“A list?” Arthur asks, raising his head. “Are you serious? You are serious. Jesus. And what’s on this list?”

“Me giving you a foot massage, me polishing your shoes, bare-knuckle boxing...” Eames trails off and grins at the expression on Arthur’s face, open mouthed and dark-eyed. “Believe it or not, love, I know you well.”

“Like you said,” Arthur says, shrugging with a nonchalance his expression belies. “We’ll work through it. See just how well you do know me.” It’s a challenge, one Eames likes because even if he loses they’re going to have a bloody wonderful time - not that he’s going to lose.

“Wonderful,” Eames says, grinning and rolling back onto Arthur for a wonderfully sloppy, lazy kiss.

He really does have the best ideas.


End file.
